Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)

Her response comes so quickly that I almost laugh.

Abbi: What? You’re here?

Before I can reply, she appears in the doorway and stares at me in her chair. “What are you doing here?”

God, she’s cute. How have I managed to shut off the part of my brain that notices for so long? Tonight, her long hair is piled into a bun on top of her head, and she’s already taken off the long-sleeved white chef’s coat she wears when she’s cooking, leaving her in only black leggings and a loose T-shirt that advertises The Patio on the left breast. She looks completely comfortable in every way except the blush on her cheeks and the lip between her teeth.

“Come in and shut the door.”

She obeys, but tentatively. “My staff is still here.”

“I know.” Rolling the chair back away from the desk, I depress the buttons under the arms to lower them down and out of the way. “Come here.”

Again, she does as I ask, walking around the desk and stopping in front of me.

“Closer,” I say, leaning forward to take her by the hips. I guide her to straddle my lap. Her breath catches and she stiffens. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

She swallows. “I can’t sit on your lap.”

“Why not?”

She looks at the floor. “I’m not a small girl.”

Well, fuck. Why do I keep forgetting that everything comes back to this for her? Some guys would lie and tell a woman in this moment that she’s not big, even if, objectively speaking, she’s bigger than his past girlfriends. A pretty lie isn’t going to help her feel better. I could tell her she’s not as big as she thinks, but while that might be true, the sentiment makes me uncomfortable. It lends power to the idea that there’s something wrong with being bigger. So I stick with the simple truth. “I can handle it.”

This time when I tug on her hips, she straddles me and lowers herself onto my lap. I can feel her trying to keep some of the weight on her toes, but she’s too short and has to put all her weight on me. And fuck, I love it.

I groan at the feel of her pressing against my erection. So good. And yet in the way the smell of dinner is good when you’re starving, it’s not enough.

“You okay?” she asks.

I squeeze her ass and tug her even closer against me. “I’m horny as hell. Someone got me all worked up with her text messages earlier.”

That earns me a smile. She loops her arms behind my neck. Abbi’s so much shorter than me, but when she’s sitting on me like this, we’re face to face. I like her this close. I’d like her even closer. No clothes. No pretenses. Just skin and desire and pleasure. “I think you’re the one responsible for that,” she says.

I press my lips to the spot just beneath her ear then trail down to the crook of her neck and suck lightly. Her barely audible gasp is the hottest sound I’ve heard all day. I graze my teeth lightly along the column up her neck, back up to her ear. “Tell me I wasn’t the only one suffering today.”

I cup her breast, finding her pebbled nipple through her shirt and bra and squeezing it between my thumb and forefinger. There’s no cleavage showing in this shirt, which is a damn shame. Abbi would look fucking fantastic in a shirt that dipped low in the front, something that showed the swell of her full breasts. But I like this too. More than I ever could’ve guessed I might. I like knowing I’ve seen something hardly anyone else gets to see. I like knowing that she might hide herself from the world, but she doesn’t hide from me.

“Tell me you’ve been walking around as turned on and aching as I have.”

“So much,” she says. Then she shifts the angle of her hips and rocks against me. Just barely. Just enough to show me what she wants. What she needs.

“Will they need you out there anytime soon?” I ask. If I’m going to have to let her walk away in two minutes, I need to brace myself for it now.

She shakes her head. “They’re wrapping things up. I was supposed to be going home.”

“Home sounds good,” I say, cupping her other breast. “Home means a bed and a chance to get these clothes off you.”

She stiffens. So . . . she’s not ready for that. Got it.

I change course. “But this. Here. This means I don’t have to wait to feel you, and I’ve already waited all fucking day. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“Me neither,” she says, and I can tell the admission is a leap of faith for her.

“Turn around. Stay on my lap and keep your legs straddling mine, but face the desk.”